The Woman Behind the Green Curtain
by thegrottogirl
Summary: A little inside glance at Cuddy. HouseCuddy. R for language and sexual references.
1. Chapter 1

_Discalimer: House M'D doesn not belong to me neither do any of it's characters. I'm just dressing them up and feeding them my lines in hopes that I won't get sued and because it oh so satisfying._

The Woman Behind the Green Curtain

To work in a glass hospital you have to be aware you are always being watched.

Cuddy sits at her desk she glances towards her glass door, peers over the piles of paper work. Her hand slowly tapping a pen on the desk, a slow steady beat, she is having one of those rare moments that she only sometimes lets herself indulge in, only when it's been a hard day, it's dark out and she knows there is hardly anyone else around.

She shifts her naked feet under the desk, brushing against her pumps thoughtfully, sometimes she wakes up to find that the hospital has consumed her, she looks around for any remnants of 'Lisa' but all she can find is 'Dr. Cuddy', perhaps the worrying things is that she accepts that. It's ok for her to loose herself because _her work is important_.

Lately she has been finding herself repeating that mantra over and over again in her head.

It doesn't seem to make much difference.

Cuddy blinks rapidly and slips back into the office, once again the paperwork glares it her, almost over powering. It beckons her, or maybe she beckons it, it's difficult to tell but the end result is always the same.

Her feet brush past her pumps again and she thinks

'_Fuck it, I'm going home'_

Diligently she slips her feet back into her killer heels, gathers her hand bag; car keys, coat and heads for the door. She hesitates as she is confronted with her reflection, she looks tired and conquered. Her mind retaliates. _It's been a long day_. She thinks that it has been a long week; a long month… it has just been _too long._

The car park greets her, she walks to her car and gets in, briefly she rests her head on the steering wheel and is glad that no one else is her to notice her small surrender to the overwhelming ness of hospital life. Just for a moment longer, she thinks and then raises her eyes to the road and slides her key home.

Home to an empty house, not something that sounds particularly welcoming but the idea is comforting to her, she has already used up all her energy administrating and putting things in their correct places, there is nothing left for her to give to anyone else right now.

She never had been all that good at relationships, not to say that she hadn't had her fair share she was beautiful still _is._ But relationships hadn't been one of her strong points, turned out she was too dedicated to her study, to her job, to her profession. Not a lot has changed since then.

Dragging her heels Cuddy walks into her bedroom and puts away her shoes, neatly in her closet lined up to their sisters they march silently and she closes the wardrobe door with their image still pressed into her brain. She should probably eat, she heads to the fridge and passes the wine rack pauses and retrieves a red.

She doesn't end up eating but she does manage to put away most of the bottle before she realizes that she should stop. Then all these things that she should do wind around in her brain.

She should probably go to bed now, it's late already.

She should probably stop working late at the Hospital; it's taking over everything she owns.

She should also seek out a relationship, any kind of relationship she has so little time for human contact at the moment.

She should probably take a break

She should probably stop enjoying House's comments about her low cut shirts, her thighs and most defiantly her 'fun bags'.

House, he is one of those little guilty indulgences she lets herself have, Mind you she never takes it too far. He is too similar in temperament to her for them to ever work out although she imagines it would be very interesting to try, they do have great sex and they have known each other for a long time, old friends almost. They used to be old friends back when Wilson was still on his first marriage and Stacy was still around. They had had good times together and she was sad to see them go but the reality was, _is_ that she just doesn't have the time for that anymore.

Time is running out so quickly on her, who would have thought it.

Cuddy stops mid-thought, _time…_ glancing at the clock she realizes that she _has_ to go to bed _now_ she really can't survive without sleep. So she picks up the bottle to re-cork it and notices that there is none left. So she rinses her glass and sits it in the dishwasher, she hasn't turned it on all week and there are still hardly any dishes in there. She eats when she has the time but that doesn't seem to be happening much lately.

Cuddy ads eat regularly to her to-do list.

Cuddy heads to the shower, finally feeling the bottle of wine take its toll on her, she is pretty tolerant but a bottle had been a mistake and she was going to be paying dearly for it tomorrow.

Cuddy scrubs her skin clean, it glimmers in the odd light of the bathroom and with a slow finger she out-lines the contour of her wrist. She feels strange but she is satisfied that she is clean and steps out of the shower. Looking around she notices that she doesn't have a towel and decides that drinking is was not a good problem solver.

Cuddy stumbles forward a little and tries to steady herself with another shaky foot; she slips in a puddle of shower water and loses her balance.

She is falling, out of control.

_Pain_

Dazed Cuddy slowly takes a hold of the situation.

Her elbow seems to have taken the brunt of the fall and is aching, but not too badly she'll be bruised but she is certain that nothing broken except for her respect for herself. Gingerly she arises and looks in the mirror, there is a small cut just above her left eyebrow and its bleeding sluggishly, the surrounding area looks a little red and puffy which really just tops off her day.

_Fuck_

No work tomorrow, she'll be fine.

Cuddy lies in bed with a glass of water on her bedside table and several aspirin inside of her, the thumping of her blood seems to be become further and further away. Sleep has come to claim her and she surrenders her control unto as best she can.


	2. Chapter 2

Catness: I guess the answer is yes. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

In a situation not so dissimilar to the one Cuddy had faced on Friday, she found herself wading through papers on her desk, turns it out it would have been more helpful if she had of completed them the week prior.

A small sigh escapes between her teeth before she can restrain herself. Sighing is just an expression, a waste of energy to convey how you are feeling at this current point in time, Energy that could be used for more important things like paper work. Cuddy vaguely thinks life should be easy and then digs into the hours of a potential headache that is laid out before her.

It seems like an age before she is finally finished up, sorting through important things and the shocking amount of complaints against House.

She flicks through them:

Doctor House called my son a sniveling whining brat…

Doctor House ignored…

Doctor House was sleeping during…

Doctor House laughed inappropriately when I told him…

The list goes on and on, it seems that that could be all her life consists of.

Cuddy realizes that she has worked through her lunch hour, when she feels a yawning emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She grabs her handbag from under the desk hoping to find some kind of energy bar to keep her running until dinner.

She finds something remotely healthy looking peels back the wrapping and nibbles somewhat hesitantly at the corner. It seems fine.

The door to her office swings open, no knock. And everybody's favorite cripple comes loping towards her. This isn't good she decides, can't be good at all.

House doesn't say anything just deposits himself on one of the comfortable chairs near the wall.

Cuddy is confused but she won't let him win. The best course of action would be to ignore him until he either stars speaking or leaves, which is frankly just a hopeful wish on her behalf. House never goes somewhere without some kind of purpose, which makes her question why he is here.

"I hope you know those things are full of sugar and calories… but I guess you're too far gone to care right?" He leers at her experimentally while she drops the bar back into her bag.

"What do you want House, why are you here?"

She needs him to leave so she can get back to doing important hospital things, not sure what exactly those things are right now but she will find something she is sure.

"I'm bored" his bottom lip droops towards the floor as Cuddy stares at him trying to dissect his mental sate.

"That's a lie, if you were bored you wouldn't come here because you know that I know that you haven't done all you clinic hours for last week" She blinks manically checking her last sentence made sense, she is lucky.

"Why are you here?"

She is growing evermore suspicious, obviously something terribly wrong is happening in the hospital and he is distracting her from it. This could be disastrous she gets up and starts to pace, Cuddy is the queen of pacing.

"…well my job here is done"

House solemnly nods at her and limps back out again.

She barely registers as she runs through a mental list of anything that might go wrong.

It takes Cuddy almost the rest of the week to be certain that House was just playing mind-games with her, her hospital is under no threat.

She also realizes that she has been so preoccupied that she didn't hound him about his clinic hours. It worries her a little that she was too distracted to get Greg to actually do his job.

Thursday night and she is seated in her office, just as she had been many times before. She wonders if she could write a biography and have a picture of her trusty desk on the front of it instead of a candid shot of herself. It would be brilliant symbolism and she wouldn't explain it but let the public try and dissect its meaning.

_She has no time for writing._

Cuddy secretly hates unnatural lighting, she knows that it's a completely useless hate but there it is all the same. This is how she ends up sitting in her office with the lights out, gazing through the window behind her desk, in search of the moon.

The night is cloudy and her search is fruitless but she doesn't move, she thinks that looking for the moon in an odd way would be just as important as finding it. At least she can give herself a purpose.

She sits and looks and this is how House finds her, hair tangled and loose and eye cast at the night sky.

He had been walking past her office when he saw a movement, ever curious he came to the glass of her door and peered in. He had been hoping that it was burglar or something of interest but then he had found something more intriguing; Lisa Cuddy sitting in her office with all the lights turned out so she could observe clouds.

He shunts the door with his body and swagger in, from the tell-tale footsteps Cuddy recognizes his uneven gait. She doesn't need to turn around. She knows who it is.

"What do you want Greg?"

It's funny how when they are alone, which isn't often, they call each other by their first names. At college they had all joked around by calling each other doctor, referring to their fellow students using their last names. The trivialness soon wore off after they graduated and became professionals, it wasn't fun anymore.

_It just was_.

House ponders, she looks tired, perhaps this isn't the best time for juvenile comments, and if he really wanted to upset her he knows that this would be the perfect time.

Fortunately he doesn't want her broken. His games aren't as entertaining when the opposition doesn't play back and she is very good at retaliating but only when she wants to.

Slowly he walks until he is beside her, his pace entirely different now from what it had been before. Now he walks with his age and burdens pressed beneath the soles of his feet.

"Lisa… Why are you sitting alone in the dark?"

He hastily glances towards his watch, 9:27; she should be at home resting and reading some of that terrible chic-lit that he knows she sometimes dabbles in.

A sense of despair descends on her weary brain

"I truly do not know"

The words come out on their own accord, though she does not wish them back she wishes that she had prepared herself for the finality of letting her words solidify, letting them slide out of her thoughts and into reality. She hadn't anticipated letting her unconscious get the better of her.

"Are you alright?"

He is being serious with her, it's not just one of those throw away questions that no one expects to be answered.

"Just tired, that's all"

She leans back into the chair and pretends not to notice his hand on her shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3

_It's Friday again, at last._

Quietly Cuddy is seeking the door, for once in her life she has finished her work and decided to leave. Her day has been smooth, no problems that couldn't be quickly dealt with, nothing that couldn't be fixed with a growl. That in mind she hasn't seen House today perhaps that is a silent hint, an omen of sorts.

Fate smiles with bared teeth and she hears his voice gloat in a familiar pattern.

Lips curled in a mocking smile House is approaching getting closer than she would like, his toes intruding into personal space. He is just close enough to make her feel uncomfortable but to the outsiders' eye, he manages to make it seem purely conversational. Eyes are cast down, towards Cuddy's chest and past her eyes he makes an unobtrusive comment.

"You're leaving now."

It's a statement but he manages to twist with curiosity so it is almost like a question, like he is running the words through a mental analysis. It would make her more comfortable if she took a step back, they both know she won't. She refuses to let his presence dominate her she can't allow it because as far as the pack is concerned she is alpha-male.

"Yes, I am. One tends to leave their work place when their work is finished"

She looks at him as if something in his face might explain his question, his eyes roll into the back of his head and throws a look of disgust in her general direction, still distracted by her low cut blouse.

"House, eyes up now."

She growls at him, attempting to stay dignified and not look as ridiculous as she feels.

"Yes I understand the logistics; I was just surprised that you were leaving. I'm fairly certain you live here. The common belief is you don't even have a house and I tend to agree"

It's a challenge, he has seen her house, been in it. He wants her to acknowledge it in front of her staff, doesn't matter if they don't hear because he is certain that they probably won't but he wants her to say it, that yes she has a life out side of the hospital and that sometimes includes him.

She is obviously exasperated she doesn't like his little games, doesn't want to let him win, she is very competitive.

"Take me for a drink."

House is surprised he surely didn't expect her to say that.

"I know you and Wilson like to go out on Fridays, take me too"

"Ok"

He said ok, Cuddy was starting to have this huge inner debate about whether this is a good idea. Why did she ask, why Oh treacherous soul, why? Too late now, she notices that Houses eyes have wandered back down to her cleavage. Resisting the urge to punch him she thinks about leaving now, just wandering past him and out to her freedom.

"James and I will get you from your house in an hour"

He almost looks suspicious of her.

"Oh so now when it suits you I have a house?"

Cuddy arches an eyebrow, turns on her heel and heads out. She knows he is watching her leave, watching her ass. She doesn't care she is far too distracted by the thousands of equally frightening scenarios running through her brain all including excessive amounts of alcohol and her making a complete fool out of herself. Who would have thought relaxing with your 'friends' could be so difficult.

An hour and a half later Cuddy is sitting at her breakfast bar with a foot unceremoniously tapping, she is still waiting. Dressed as casually as she will allow herself she still hasn't strayed from her favored low necklines.

She hears a wood-on-wood tap and stalks to the door ready to throw it open and glare at who ever is on the other end and she has a fairly good idea who it will be.

The door swings back and she is face to face with Gregory House and a snarling grin, backing off subconsciously she notes that James is standing behind him with a bottle of whisky in his hand.

"I take it we aren't going out?"

She raises the question as House sidles past her, purposefully brushing against her chest. She sends him a withering gaze as Wilson steps in the door.

It doesn't take them long to fall back into the embrace of their old boon companion air, Cuddy guesses the whisky isn't bad for the situation either.

House has already taken control of her stereo by plugging his ipod cable into the auxiliary input, whatever that is. She didn't even know she had one.

"You're not a very good hostess are you, where is all the food? Where are my salted peanuts bar wench?"

House tries to toy with Cuddy though he lets a tone of affection slip through and for his efforts he receives one of the most efficient 'go to hell' stares he has received in a long time.

"Wench? You better be careful or you could end up leaving this house in more pain than necessary"

Her tone is deathly serious as she heads to the kitchen to find him some snacks, House figures that there must be some charm left in him after all.

Hours pass the alcohol depletes and they are forced to rip into Cuddy secret supply, neither James nor House makes a comment about how well equipped her liquor cabinet is, some things are better off not mentioned.

Cuddy doesn't mind so much having them in her house; it's not as bad as she would have anticipated she is even enjoying their company.

But she just needs to breathe some fresh air, something to clear her head from all the wisps of alcohol that seem to be unfurling around her brain.

She stands on the balcony with her hair tangled in the breeze, she feels a brief twinge of nostalgia as she lights her cigarette, but it is so brief that it can be easily forgotten.

Cuddy of course doesn't smoke, but she is drunk, well she is fairly certain her judgment is clouded enough to be able to get away with a quick cigarette, an anomaly if you will.

Juts a piece of aberrant data to be discarded when found to defy the trend.

With this thought still playing on the edges of her mind she inhales for a moment and though her lungs protest she embraces the cloying scent of death that comes with every inhalation.

Wilson clears his throat and Cuddy slowly turns to face him, she is not startled. She realizes she has probably been gone longer than she intended. There is no use in hiding the decisions she made for herself.

"Lisa what are you doing?"

He is trying his best to remain nonchalant about it but he does find her self destructive behavior unnerving. She looks at him with a slight hint of malice; perhaps she holds this tiny jewel of resentment for him in her soul.

"Ok I guess that was a pointless question, House sent me to find the cordial hostess and ask where she was… but in fewer words"

"-and with more metaphor? I should have guessed as much I suppose"

Cuddy laughed morosely to herself.

"Well you found me, best you return to the knightly cripple"

"I'm so flattered that you see me in that light"

House had waited about two minutes and then followed Wilson, he had a feeling that things may take a while and he would be waiting alone with a bottle in his hand. That particular scene felt too familiar for his taste.

On hearing his low tones Cuddy had the strangest feeling that she was trapped. Surrounded on all sides. She just shook her head and turned her back to the both of them and taking another drag watched the scenery.

The night continues on, as do all unstoppable things, like fate and life.

By the time Wilson rises to leave, Cuddy has successfully ducked out for another two quick cigarettes without being missed; it's her small victory in the face of his marital bliss. She knows that Wilson has a terrible track record for marriage, hell she has even been part of the problem but she is envious of the ease in which he seems to find a replacement. Still she finds the energy to rise from her seat and press a platonic kiss to his cheek, he looks back at her worry evident in his eyes but she steamrolls over anything that he might feel be efficiently ushering him out her door.

This leaves the matter of House to be attended to; he is still sitting on one of her lounge chairs, shadows masquerading over his features. She feels the need to reach out and touch him to make sure he is still real, she convinces herself it's the alcohol speaking.

"That's it House, Party over. It's time for you to leave"

He looks up and blue eye meet blue, making a gesture that somehow Cuddy manages to translates into 'bring me the phone' he reclines lazily.

After he has called the Taxi, and waited the appropriate length of time for it to arrive he heads to the backdoor. She follows him and before he turns to go he asks her:

"Where is my farewell kiss?"

She looks at him through a haze of doubt, and wonders if this is just another game.

He looks at her with a determined conviction that he can change this into just another game if he has to.

She eyes him warily and steps back into the house closing the door behind her but not before he notes the hesitation in her movements.

She knows this is the way it has to be, she feels safe in her knowledge. She also feels drunk and ends up sitting on her sofa idly watching her toes curl around the coffee table, how odd.

She wonders how she ended up where she is now, her brain is slowly trickling with regret she suddenly renounces the feeling an angry scowl slips upon her lips.

A memory of her pubescent self snarling at the mirror springs into her brain, she shoves it back down into a cardboard box.

A hissing breath escapes her lips and she lets it be leaden down with a sigh, regrets are over-rated. Letting her head loll back she winces in an uneasy shrug, tucks her legs into her body and rests her face on an arm. A night of quiet deliberation on the brink of a comatose state is what lies ahead.


	4. Chapter 4

It's almost half past eleven when Cuddy finds her eyes creeping open, her head is still resting on an outstretched arm, rolling over she finds that sometime in the night she must have risen to get a blanket. She has a faint hope that she may have slept past the worst of her hangover but when she tries to stand she realizes that she is still drunk, a faint humming is running through her veins and it is altogether unpleasant

By the time that she has had a shower, taken the largest amount of painkillers that she deems as safe and had a strong cup of coffee her day seems to have already finished. She is feeling slightly ill and her house is not in the greatest shape, what is left of the day must be spent putting things back into their rightful place so this is what she does. How very symbolic, she muses.

Sitting in front of a bowl of pasta Cuddy begins to reminisce about the night before, she remembers it all. She is quietly concerned with letting herself smoke again having thought she had left that behind her with college and other past sins. The smell of cigarette is still lodged in her pores it's terribly familiar, makes her think of old parties and old times. Thinking of such things could be dangerous, she remembers what it was like to be free and have free time. It is on some level deeply distressing.

With dusk quickly settling down, the rooms are being lit with a strange surreal light, things appear softer with this gentle sepia wash shadowed on them. Cuddy likes dusk even though it's only a fleeting time, she likes the way it is sweet and smooth and then it's gone. It would be so helpful, she supposes, if everything could be like that- pleasing, beautiful and then gone until the same time tomorrow.

Cuddy draws herself a bath and fishes around her bathroom draws for a loofah, something to scrub away dead skin cells that are still lingering on her body but she comes away empty handed and deposits her body in the tub. Observing her body carefully she looks at the fading yellow bruises that she had collected in her previous bathroom adventures, they are almost gone completely which she is glad of.

Steam billows off the bath water leaving condensation on the mirror and windows, she is feeling dizzy from the heat it's making her light headed. Shifting her body into a more functional position Cuddy tilts her head under the cold faucet and gulps down a mouthful, excess water dribbles down her chest making her shiver at the contrast, she ducks her head back greedy for more. Some how, it always seems sweeter when her body really needs something and she gives in.

Wary of meeting the bathroom floor on a more personal level then she intends she slides a foot onto the bath mat, one foot deftly follows the other and she is drying her hair off. Her muscles are relaxed tipping her body into a sleepy haze. She follows on with her desires and climbs into her bed, throwing her towel unceremoniously to the floor. Hesitating she gets back up and places the towel in wash basket and then returns back to bed. Her mind forms the idea of putting on some pajamas but in her half-asleep state she can't really remember whether she gets up to put them on or just thinks about.

The weekend is over before Cuddy has finished with it, it had seemed to wash over in a wave of curious dreams and pages of various books she may or may not have been reading.

By the time she is striding down the halls of her hospital again she has barely had time to register the events of her weekend. She has trouble in categorizing them and is sorely tempted to slot them into a rather convenient pile of 'non-events'. She'll deal with it in a manner she decided is fit and proper, but not right now. Now she is at the hospital and needs to concentrate on her work.

House hears his impending doom approaching in the tattle-tale click of heels that will undoubtedly be accompanying Cuddy. His last hope is that she will simply walk past the spare exam room, maybe she isn't really hunting him down to make him go to the clinic, maybe…

His wishes are shattered by the swish of the door and the expression of mild malice that is gracing Cuddy's features. In a stance worthy of a dominatrix she lets the door swing closed behind her, her mouth opens and he knows if he lets her have the first word she won't stop yelling until he is where he is 'supposed to be'. His plan is to play on dormant emotions that he is sure she has for him, he wonders if the mind-fuck will be worth getting out of a few hours of work, but the in the seconds that he has, he blithely throws away the uneasy feeling.

_She must have been expecting it. _

She can tell from the glint in his eye that he is about to turn her into one of those foolish floozies that he wants her to be, it doesn't matter that she isn't one. However a noteworthy point is that his opinion can affect her self importance.

She must have known him better then he thought she did because before he could get a word in she started, not the yelling that had seemed so reliable but a distinct change in body language that silenced them both.

She slowly makes her way to the exam table and sits herself on it, crossing her ankles as they hang down.

"Are you suggesting that I _examine_ you Doctor Cuddy?"

House slapped the innuendo thick onto his words, smirking in what he knew to be a lewd fashion.

Her response to this was standard enough as she gave him a look that would have crippled a lesser man, or perhaps just a man who had not already been crippled.

"No I am not. You _still _owe me clinic hours so just be quiet for a moment"

Absent mindedly House reaches for her wrist, Cuddy has drifted off into some dreamland; probably she is imagining new excruciating ways to torture him and\or make his life a living hell. His fingers find her pulse which is beating slightly faster then he would have imagined he puts it down to stress. She makes a gesture as to swipe his hand away, so he removes it and casually rests it on her knee.

He watches for a reaction, any reaction at all

Cuddy knows she shouldn't be letting this happen she should slap his hand off her yell and then storm out making sure she is heard berating him but sometimes she feels like doing things that they don't expect.

If she doesn't think too hard about it then he isn't really here at all. She can place herself in her own situation one where she is sitting by herself in a spare exam room just having a breather.

She examines the mental image telling herself that there something distinctly unpleasant about the busiest woman in the hospital naval gazing by herself when she should be administrating the teaching hospital.

It's at this thought that she notices House's hand has been on a slow journey further up her thigh and is now moving stealthily underneath the hem of her skirt. A sudden realization hits her as she jams a palm down onto his knuckles efficiently pinning his hand down and halting its progress.

Her previous unpleasant thought is now replaced by an image of the Dean of Medicine with the Head of Diagnostic Medicines' hand up her skirt. This thought is decidedly worse.

"You shouldn't be letting me do this to you"

House pronounces it and looks at her with a question in his gaze

"Come now"

She winces slightly at her chosen words but continues on anyway

"You're hardly doing anything worth stopping"

House's look is incredulous

"Sure, what's an inappropriate touch between old friends?"

"If you thought it was inappropriate why did you do it?"

Cuddy is standing again, painfully aware that even in her shoes she is smaller then him. He remains seated ignoring her unvoiced challenge; his mouth opens with a retort resting on his taste buds.

"Wait! Don't say a word. I don't want to know your motives, they always seem so questionable. I'm leaving now and _you_ are going to do your clinic hours"

Teetering on her heels she recovers her footing seamlessly and walks to the door, she stops before opening it and with her back to him she adds

"If you are still here in three minutes I will add on another two hours to you clinic work."

There is a hint of steel to her words, something she generally manages to keep from entering her conversations with him. She feels like she needs to make the boundaries more evident, so she enforces them before she lets these things starts sliding by her. How else would she be able to remain efficient?

Cuddy has a secret joy for things that are efficient, she likes functionality but there is no doubt that she likes these things to be sleek, streamlined and stainless steel.

This is probably an indication of her personality type, she laughs internally, how many times as a youth had she been told she was a control freak? So many times that she began to question whether it was a compliment or a warning.

There had always been the whispering voices of her aunts discussing her fortune disregarding tones. They dissected her virtues and weighed them against her faults interchanging her good traits for her worst. There was an eternal debate over her masculinity; her small ears did not need to hear their prophesized future, being too young to know better she let herself dwell on their words. She didn't realize that her life was just a distraction from their own, a source of entertainment until the kettle boiled.

She is gone, leaving House behind her to collect his own scattered thoughts, and then he too must leave avoiding future conflict. Although it may be one of has a favorite pastime he chooses to forgo it for now.

It's her that seeks him out in the end; she turns up at his office and watches him play on his gameboy. Buttons click as his fingers deftly prod at controls. She stands outside the glass, just watching and gaining a fare share of dubious glances from passers by.

She feels like a voyeur, this isn't helped by the fact that she is not exactly sure what she is doing there.

_He knows._

He knows she is watching him; he looks her straight in the eye just as she turns to leave. They both know he caught her and by the time that he is standing at her front door that night they both know their intentions; she has hers set out clearly.

Opening the door she ushers him in, hoping to find some kind of perception in his company. Knowing that there is only one reason she let him in the door, which is the same reason he came. It makes her feel reassured.

She finds his fingers on her arm remind her of the legs of a spider and she is marginally repulsed by it. She could turn back right now, but what would be the point of halting the workings that she herself had put into motion? Grasping one of his shoulders, she squeezes it tight enough to remind him that there are no niceties between them, what they are doing here is _not_ an expression of friendship or anything else so paltry.

This is about sensation maybe it is also about loneliness but they choose to ignore that, they have no use for neglected emotions.

They don't move from the sofa to the bed, he could have insisted, it would have been easier on his body but some how they both know that she would prefer to have him here- in front of an audience of framed faces and memories.

The act itself is hard and sharp. They probably hurt each other more then they originally intended to but there has to be a way to keep the walls between them, it wouldn't do for them to forget who they are.

They move suddenly to find themselves in the tatters of clothing ripped from their bodies; there is a questing voice in her head about whose clothes they really are. Surely they cannot belong to Lisa Cuddy and Gregory House, wouldn't they have noticed the passion in this display? She can't really remember exactly what happened but whatever it was it was good.

He had watched her hips caressing him. She had been on top and he hadn't expected anything less of her.

He quickly scans her exposed skin for the beginning of bruises that he is sure there will be, she doesn't notice though because her eyes are doing the sane thing.

She gently brushes her fingers across a bite mark on her neck.

Contrary to what they had previously agreed on, they let themselves bask in the after glow. She is laying on top of him her breasts pushing firmly against his chest, without realizing it she has rested her face in the crook of his neck and his arms for a moment lay across her back in what may be loosely translated as an embrace.

Then she gets off him and goes to the shower locking the door behind her. She hopes that he has left by the time she gets out.


	5. Chapter 5

Cuddy had expected repercussions; surely there must have been some adverse reaction to the act which they had committed so mindlessly. Unconsciously they had both expected for there to be uneasiness between them, no such space of time existed though. They had simply returned to the ins and outs of their normal interaction, although interaction was probably more minimal now.

No one noticed a change in their reaction to one another because there was none, no visible change that is. Cuddy now had the foresight to avoid being alone with him for prolonged amounts of time, of course this was usual for them both so perhaps her reaction would prove ineffectual but she had to make her answer somewhere.

The revelation that nothing had changed was completely symmetrical between them and weeks passed with the knowledge sunk deep into the crevices of their brains. She found out that she was noticing more things now, carefully observant about how utterly devoted to an illusion Cameron was. She scrutinized as the girl watched carefully over her unconcerned superior, she noted every time she fussed over him. She liked to revise these moments when she was screaming at him, she could accept the Yin to another's Yang.

There was a period where she tried to match the edges of Cameron and House together so that they would fit like jig-saw pieces, she only found herself successful when she pounded her fists down on them, forcibly enmeshing their two personalities. And then that time was over.

Was it unbelievably sad that she was watching his relationships? She had always been unobtrusively observant, she liked watching the ways things might play out, of course life quickly became too busy for such frivolities but lately she had been making time for this harmless vice.

Stacy was a conundrum; Cuddy had always felt a mutual indifference towards her which at times could have easily swung to affection. She never hated her, although neither House nor Wilson knew it, they both suspected that Cuddy had a secret loathing hidden away from them.

But now Cuddy found the situation puzzling, surely Stacy wanted no more to do with House? Wasn't she happily married? Things just seem to have this habit of getting ridiculously over complicated when really they should just be simple. If only ethics were stronger then the desire to disobey them.

She didn't want to dwell, things were working out so much better then they had before, somehow this interlude with House had helped her grasp a better control of her situation, mainly for the effect of not stooping to that level again. She found she had generated a lot of self loathing which was ineffectual in meaning; she moved on, became stronger. This is of course is the censored version which she drip-fed her self to the point of addiction.

The truth has this exasperating habit of lodging itself under the skin, sneaking into places easily forgotten only to gnaw away at you from the inside out. Cuddy had though of this and carefully discarded it, if she doesn't think about it so much then maybe it didn't happen.

Even after all is said and done she dwells.

Little memories sneak past her defenses, the scrape of his face against her skin, she manages to chastise herself for these slip ups but they happen all the same. She has this nagging feeling that she is reveling in the smutty taboo ness of hard cheap sex. She's not the kind of girl who should appreciate 'no-stings-attached'- or so she keeps telling herself.

With these ideas scattered in her mind Cuddy took wing to the dating scene again, her visit was brief and unsuccessful but still the move has been made, she is being social now. After the dates, which admittedly had been few she had returned to the hospital, even just to the car park to sit for a while. The hospital was the constant in her life and she needed it to be stable.

Cuddy waited for a time when she felt comfortable mulling over her sexual encounter and curled up on her bed. Why had she done it? The answer was simple enough to come by, she did it because she could and she knew that he would. She had slept with him because she was certain that there was nothing more than lust attached to their actions, unresolved sexual tension if you will. The only thing that tripped her up was that it hadn't been the first time they had conveniently fallen into bed with one another, the bed being metaphorical in this particular case.

She has slept with him twice this year, it's not a personal record but she still manages to feel a slight guilt. They sleep together when he is drunk, when she is depressed and sometimes when he is on a medication induced high, though she tries to avoid positive reinforcement of his destructive behavior if she can, she'd like to put it down to convenience but instead only manages a half hearted stab at their emotional attachment. Contrary to both of their thoughts they have grown attached to one another, a relationship that has discretely taken over what might have been their friendship, they don't quite know though it's not something that they have tried to notice.

After thinking about it for a while, she gave in and made herself a cup of earl grey.

Stalking down the hallways in a whisper of skirt and stockings Cuddy has started planning out exactly what she is going to say to House, reprimanding him for the latest complaint- sexual harassment none the less. Obviously he had no idea how serious this could be.

Wilson notices the familiar sound of a woman's righteous anger and turns to see Cuddy calmly picking her way towards House. Her back is painfully straight and her words terse and precise, in short he can tell that she is furious. He manages to catch the corner of a few words that sound a lot like "My office… ten minutes…" She is gone soon after with her over zealous back posture and a faint aroma of vanilla. He approaches House and betraying his interest in the matter leans over and asks

"What was that was all about?"

House throws back a comment about a patient and sexual harassment also claiming that the accusation is completely off base, Wilson is still gaping from the words 'Sexual Harassment' and they hadn't been in the corridor he would have repeated said phrase in a loud unbelieving voice.

"House, I'm going to give you some advice here because frankly you are my friend but you are also a moron. Under no circumstances should you blow off Cuddy's summons to her office, trust me on this"

"I guess you would know three wives and all…"

"Yes"

Wilson doesn't deny it because it's engraved on his hand in a semi-permanent band of pale flesh that signifies the absence of a wedding ring, a wedding ring that he is currently thumbing over in his palm. His third marriage, just as much of a train wreck as the other two but it was still animate, he has to remind himself of that sometimes. He slides the ring back over his knuckle, raising his head in time to see House mooching towards the elevator.

Cuddy has managed to stop hyperventilating by the time House walks into her office, she doesn't maintain the surprise that he actually turned up instead she starts pacing.

"Please tell that their grounds for sexual harassment are unfounded!"

Mixed into the cocktail of emotions that seem to be spinning around Cuddy he notes a hazy panic.

"I don't see why you are making such a big deal about this, she is a rich woman with too much time on her hands, anyway she's sure to drop it when I 'fix' her husband… unless she'd poisoning him and this all but an elaborate ruse to get rid of him and take all his money"

Cuddy blinks twice in rapid succession

"On second thoughts that scenario is way too overused… and I would have noticed"

She looks at him as if he is expanding at an exponential rate and might suddenly take over the universe. House gleefully watches her wide eyes and it's her personal feeling that this can't end well.

"You're going to have to discuss this with Stacy so she can tell us what to expect"

That, Cuddy believes, is the magical word, _'Stacy'_. His whole demeanor slowly begins to unwind into a new tenser version.

Clearly these words disturb layers that he hadn't bothered to hide yet. She is fine with this though, Cuddy knows she isn't the only woman in his life, she hasn't staked her claim and she isn't going to.

She feels sorry for the downtrodden expression on his face, and then he gazes up at her with puppy-dog eyes his face an incarnation of woe.

"I'm not impressed, now go"

His figure limps out with a scowl on its face, he had been certain that the mournful needing expression would have won her over, than again he reminds himself that she is not Cameron and neither is he for that matter.

_He is right and the law suit is dropped._

It drives her slowly insane that he can get away with anything he wants to if he tries hard enough. She returns to her habit of sliding off her shoes and pressing her feet against the cool metals legs of her desk, cocking her ear to hear an imaginary hiss of flesh against steel. Craning her neck gently to the left she smoothes her thumb across an eyebrow, letting her palm rest against her face, a quick and tired gesture that Wilson notes as he opens her office door.

"Lisa"

He is notifying her of his presence, he doesn't want to startle her or provoke any anger, he is sure that she has been slowly simmering away in her own time. She looks up, seeming annoyed at being distracted from whatever it was she had been doing before.

"What can I do for you Wilson?"

She is stuck in doctor Cuddy mode referring to him only by his last name.

"He hasn't done anything wrong, I know he can be a bastard but he wouldn't do something like… that"

She smiles at his devotion and nods at him

"I'm quite aware of that Wilson, is that all?"

Maybe he looks shocked, she isn't paying attention anymore because the god or paper work owns her at the moment, and Wilson turns to smile at her as the door to her office swings closed


	6. Chapter 6

Light headed is not a way that Lisa Cuddy ever feels, she is far to staunch for such a flowery faint hearted feeling. So when her body falls onto her bed, feet aching and her mind painting hazy shadows across her eyeballs, she pegs it down to exhaustion. She is probably right the stress is taking its toll; she has conditioned herself into believing that she thrives on stress but right now her body is telling her that that is a blatant lie.

Cuddy wishes it was Friday and she could spend the next few days in bed sleeping, or perhaps running off those clouded thoughts that are littering her conscious but as fate had ordained it is only Wednesday and the rest of the week has yet to unfold before her.

It's hardly a surprise when the alarm clock blares at the second she feels she has fallen asleep. Her eyes are tired and even when she is in the shower the warmth feels like it could be her blanket and invites her to close her eyes and return to her restless slumber. She is too tired to be amazed that she has managed to dress herself and shower without succumbing to the subliminal 'sleep' messages that all the walls of her house seem to exude.

A caffeine shot should chase the cobwebs away, and she is sitting at the breakfast bar with a large cup of black coffee (with excessive sugar) steaming in front of her. The smell is strong and rich making her feel queasy yet she manages to swallow it down along with a few slices of lightly browned toast.

She knows the hazards of consuming large amounts of sugar, she'll be on a momentary high and then she'll crash, she just needs to last through out the day and she is certain that she is capable. Better yet she is going to do a damn fine job of it as well.

It' during her lunch hour that Eric Foreman walks into her glass cocoon, he is speaking to her and the words themselves seem like they must be very important but all she can do is gaze uncomprehendingly as his face works through a series of emotions finally rounding on concern.

"Dr. Cuddy, are you alright?"

This is the time she realizes that she is overlooking her job, her mental checklist reels off what little information it has retained of the words spoken to her, still they make little sense.

"I'm fine I just need some more coffee"

She shares with him the all knowing doctor look

"Can you run your request by me again?"

By the end of the day everything seems to have morphed into riotous hilarity though Cuddy manages to keep her underlying urges to collapse into hysterics at bay. She recalls reading somewhere that if a person hasn't slept for twenty four hours then they react in ways similar to that of a person who is legally drunk. Whether this information has been produced by her weary brain or is just an old wives tale is hard to determine.

Making her way home as soon as possible Cuddy makes herself a nice meal, has a shower and then gets into her bed ready to catch up on her sleep. But sleep won't come; she silently curses herself as she tries to fathom a guess at exactly how much caffeine she has consumed.

Still inevitably sleep does come, slowly but still there.

Feet propped up on the desk House watches as Wilson paces around his own office he is clasping the phone to his ear. Sorely tempted to make high pitched moaning sounds House tries to find something on the desk to distract him only to be interrupted by the slamming down on the phone.

Wilson sighs

"Don't ask"

"I wasn't going to"

"So…"

Wilson begins hesitantly

"I think Cuddy is sick, she seems run down. What is your opinion?"

House just cocks an eyebrow at him and shrugs his shoulders. He is slightly suspicious at his friend's sudden interest in his boss. Wilson who knows him better then he should takes this miniscule hint and charges off into a completely unrelated tangent.

A wet tongue passes over Cuddy's lips as she makes her way to the elevator, the hospital once again shines in the ethereal glow of artificial lighting, it makes her eyes blink and she listens to the faint scuffling of nurses in the halls. The halls that are almost empty now, the day is winding up and coming to the conclusion that it was made for.

Pressing the elevators call button she jiggles on one foot for a second as she watches the button light up. Getting in the elevator her stomach protests as it starts its lurching ascension.

Home is her savior and when she closes the door behind her again she smiles, at last some time to wind down and get the kinks out of her back. Stress laden days, however un-compelling, come with the territory.

_Ring_

Surely that cannot be her phone.

_Ring, ring _

Lisa picks it up and brings it to her ear slowly, the expression on her face reads to mild confusion and she ignores the habitual twist of her guts that accompanies the phone every time it beckons her.

"…Hello?"

The words come out as if she is asking for the reassurance of nothing but her own echo.

"Lisa, how are you?"

Considering how odd she is feeling the reassurance of a familiar voice on the other end of the line seems to break her out of a daze. Her father speaks to her asking after her health and how work is going. At first she suspects that something terribly wrong has occurred, the feeling of dread that is building up inside of her is formidable. She waits for him to break the news of the family tragedy gently to her, but the moment she is sure will happen never comes. She only accepts this when the dial tone has been droning in her ear for minutes.

Cuddy wonders what is wrong with her, her father calls to inquire after her health and she spends the entire call stranded inside some sadistic thrall waiting for him to speak of a mass crash involving her dearest family members. This can't be normal.

To comfort herself she runs through the familiar actions of making herself a cup of tea, she chooses something herbal from the cupboard and lets herself be drawn to the soothing properties of chamomile.

Sitting on the balcony seems like a good idea so Cuddy grabs the burgundy afghan off her sofa and wraps it around her shoulders. Cup in hand she walks out and takes a seat watching the sky. Dusk makes quick work of all the remaining light in the sky and settles down behind the clouds.

Reaching for her cup she finds her hand grasping the box of cigarettes still remaining form her little relapse, glancing over she notes that the cheap lighter she had brought to go with the pack is still there too. There is a slight internal battle raging but somehow she manages to convince herself that one last cigarette would hardly be a crime, but _just_ one.

Tapping ash into her conveniently empty cup Cuddy thinks about how much of a disgusting habit smoking really is, but she doesn't stop. She doesn't grind the butt into her table until there is no other option. Rising to her feet she moves back into the house taking her cup and the packet of cigarettes with her.

She thinks about flushing the packet down the toilet but opts to instead throw it into the rubbish bin. Flushing away a packet of cigarettes is far too symbolic and dramatic for her liking, though she still feels a determined rush of achievement as the lid of the bin flips closed.

Cuddy is leaving the house; she is taking a break from the familiar surroundings she keeps on facing day to day, even though she loves them. Driving a little too fast to feel comfortable she reaches for her hand bag and manages to grab her cell phone, unwilling to let her life end in screeching of breaks and a startled look Cuddy pulls over and dials the number.

The phone rings exactly five times before House picks up, Cuddy knows it's five because it's the same amount of times she considers hanging up

"Hello"

It's a statement; he has a confidence in answering that she lacks

"What are you doing?"

The abrupt question makes House curious, he glances down at the keys of his piano and then down its long polished back, as tempting as it would be to say "Washing Cameron's hair" House concludes that if any such an inflammatory comment were to be made Cuddy would hang up immediately and then adopt one of the governments favorite slogans and 'deny everything'

"You want the truth or a happy lie?"

He is asking because he wants to please her at the moment and isn't exactly sure what she is asking of him.

"The truth"

"I was playing the piano, Beethoven's 'Moon light sonata'. Yet I have a feeling that is not exactly what you wanted to know… Perhaps this is your way of asking if I am home alone."

The headlights of the traffic are illuminating Cuddy as they stream past; snapshots of her profile can be seen as each car passes her. The pause before her reply is one weighted with stubbornness.

"Are you?"

She had to ask, she wants to know and he will be more then willing to provide her with the answer. They both count a second and then he answers

"Alone? Yes."

She arrives on his doorstep and he gives her entry only when he meets the glare from her eyes, she closes the door behind her and follows him into the kitchen where her offers her a drink. She remembers clearly thinking that this wasn't what she was here for so when he makes a sharp comment about just jumping to the chase she doesn't seem wounded by it at all.

Walking to the bedroom he glances behind him to see if she following.

She grabs his wrist and slides him into the wall her abdomen pushing firmly against his and she kisses him fiercely waiting for something to register.

He is pushing the boundaries unaware of how far she thinks she is able to go, hands sliding across her body discreetly. Ear to ear, cheek to cheek he fancies he is listening to her pulse thud but even if he could hear it he is far too enraptured with the gasping sounds she is making. Some how she has him pinned to the wall but he is the one in control

"I need… I want you..."

House doesn't claim to be a master at reading Cuddy but he is sure he sees panic when the words slip from her lips so he draws back his lips and hisses "Freudian slip" into her waiting ear.

She draws her body back from him momentarily and looks into his eyes with a purposefully bland expression on her face

"You didn't let me finish my sentence"

"I cut you off just in time"

Neither of them bothers with trying to unravel the riddles and contradictions that seem to be festering between them.


	7. Chapter 7

_This is the last chapter, sorry about the wait my account has been down. Enjoy darlings._

* * *

It might be weeks later, perhaps it has only been days but the amount of time doesn't really make any difference to her anymore. All that matters right now is that the sun is making a half hearted attempt to poke through the clouds and her lunch hour has just begun. 

She is sitting at a table neatly sheltered by the shrubbery, not too far a distance from the hospital. She doesn't need to look at her cup to see the steam rising off it, she smells the pungent aroma of tea and it's refreshing to her after hours of stale air.

Cuddy is chronicling her emotions and actions to see if she can break down every single one of her life and make it coincide with every next action, she is pondering the existence of fate itself and whether to believe makes her a fool or a hypocrite.

Now that she has fallen into bed with Gregory House again she feels the stirring of some serious affliction, the feel of righteous indignation as she visualizes him carving a notch into the handle of his cane. She is just making more excuses to call him an ass in her head.

And it's then that the imaginary games she played when she was a child begin unraveling around her ankles.

She remembers Alice; the girl who tumbled down a hole into a land where the rules were preposterous, a place where everything kept on changing without warning. The story used to frighten her. She had been such a shy child not having yet grown into her full character and uncertain of exactly what the world was asking of her.

However she had still been Cuddy, she made brave faces and became Alice, learning to cope with the things that came her way. She still sometimes thought of the blue pinafore dress, like dolls clothes, being placed in front of her with the tabs folded back to keep it in place, or was to keep her in place?

In the end it was apparent that the question itself was rhetorical.

Cuddy remembers her youthful launch into this journey.

Not unlike the second of her childhood heroines, Dorothy. She had been full of the exuberance skipping down the yellow brick road, she knew it led somewhere. It was the road she hoped would lead her to resolution, perhaps even back home but now the notion has faded and she has started to picture herself not as the lead role but one of the more minor, yet still pivotal characters.

She is the wizard himself, the one that the whole story is supposed to be about, even though she is just a flash on the screen. She is the man who denies his own existence so that the possibility that everyone else will keep on believing isn't lost. She has learnt to sympathize with his need to tell them to ignore the irrelevant facts for the sake of the greater picture, the image that he needs to portray, it's very similar to hers.

Cuddy huffs away the green mists that have been surrounding her, she removes herself form the Land of Oz and lifts the still warm white rim of the cup to her lips.

_This_ is her lunch, her mind-food.

She is allowed to lose herself in her head now but later she must concentrate on forms and patients, this is the time where she can be lost somewhere undisclosed, a location neither here nor there.

Fingers seeking warmth wrap themselves around her cup and she thinks about how she doesn't like meeting new people, they make her feel uncertain and she is not sure of the correct way to act or speak with them. Through unofficial channels she had met and courted a rather placid lawyer type.

He had taken her to a romantic feeling restaurant though the feeling was somehow blurred with the stench of expensive cuisine. She hadn't minded Cuddy knows how to appreciate the worth of things.

It might have been the distinctive feeling that her seat was cushioned with money that made her feel so appreciated, maybe it was the warm human brush of his knees against hers under the linen folds of cloth that pushed her into such an receptive mood.

He had been a gentleman to her, pulling out her seat out and making polite small talk. The main point of the exercise had been that he was nothing like House.

Cuddy found that refreshing because she wasn't sure that House was exactly her type.

She had watched the faceless dinner date, because in the end this was all he really was to her pour a glass of a fine red wine. Then when at the end of their dinner he had asked for her number telling her that he wanted to see her again, there had been the hesitation. She was caught between her decision to give him what he had asked for and her weighing the consequences of declining his smooth request.

Cuddy had been decisive and departed with a chaste kiss to his cheek and pressed a slip of paper with her name and number on it into his hand, her heels had clacked on the pavement when she smoothed a hand across her stomach and unlocked the car.

She wasn't sure what to do with him, he was probably everything she could hope for wrapped in an Armani suit but the idea of him as short-term fuck buddy was more attractive then the hint of a long term relationship that he told her he was seeking.

She liked him, he was friendly, safe, warm- he reminded her that she was alive. Cuddy wanted to be told that she was alive, that she still had living left to do.

But that was all she didn't want him even though she _wanted_ to want him, it didn't make much sense.

She moved onto a new thought

She had a wary suspicion that she might _actually_ be an inanimate object, a fixture in place waiting to be used over and over. Until suddenly one day she would become redundant and be hauled away to be hidden with memories and other keep sakes in an attic, that is if there is an attic at her hospital.

The thought is terrifying in the same theoretical way that fairytales had scared her, because it was like magic, sinister and dark but still it was magic. She intrigued herself with whispers of old incantations, red wine and sparkling dust particles descending on a misbehaving ray of light that got caught between the rafters.

But such things are the dreams of children, Cuddy remind herself that she is a fully grown woman, though her size is small and her structure delicate. Grown women are supposed to have different dreams that include designer kitchen utensils and a high salary.

Her cup is empty now with nothing but the dregs gently rolling around in the bottom, dipping a finger in she ferrets a drop of the condensed liquid onto the corner of lips and lets her tongue swipe it clean. It doesn't taste good anymore, she knew it wouldn't but it's something she still does, an unbreakable habit.

She splays her fingers on the table before her and casually toys with a packet of sugar, it has split open and is letting tiny granules slide out, trapping one she crushes it between her finger and the smooth surface.

From inside she can hear the faint strains of a vocalist, easy listening music with a soggy soul. A tune that is undoubtedly heavy on the melody with an ascending piano scale that sounds like water.

_His hands_ _are not just those of a doctor, he plays an instrument also, a skill that works with a steady hands and strengthened fingers. _

Cuddy makes a solemn vow, if possible, to always date a man with that kind of knowledge. It would work well to both of their advantages.

Her lawyer man doesn't know anything about music.

There is a tightening in her stomach which she brushes off to a tightening in her bladder so she takes initiative and makes her way to ladies room. Trying not to touch too many surfaces she closes a stall door behind her and while her hand traces lightly over the stall graffiti she promptly falls into another memory.

Sitting in one of the hospital toilets Cuddy pulled her feet up so no one could see her and wondered when she had started crying in toilet stalls during the lunch hour. It was just a momentary weakness; she had known it wasn't going to happen again anytime soon. It had just needed to be flushed out of her system. She could have justified it to herself, but she didn't want to have to and that had made things all the more difficult.

Carefully blotting at her eyes with a piece of toilet paper she cautiously left her sanctuary and adjusted her attire in the mirror. Running a hand through her hair and pulling at her lapel she was ready for the outside world again. A deep breath and she had stridden out oozing confidence; she had scaled the walls of the castle.

She returns to the table after washing her hands in the way only a doctor knows how, she was so very aware of her body, this caused problems. She was too aware of personal space and the symmetry between herself and other miscellaneous objects, often she found herself fighting the urge to adjust other people to coincide with her internal Feng Shui.

There is the fantasy of being discovered in a compromising position with House that has been troubling her, not so much a fantasy as an overwhelming fear but Cuddy can't deny that there is something about that thought, the blatant flouting of the rules, it excites her.

She imagines what the scenario might be but she can never pin the best one down all that she manages to conjure up is the play of shadows and silhouettes on hospital walls and Foreman's shocked expression as he quietly backs away.

She wanted it to be him who discovered because she didn't really know him well enough to gauge exactly what his reaction would be.

Cameron was predictable enough and would have blinked back tears and rushed off to nurse her wounded pride, she was sure Chase would try to use it to blackmail both of them and better his position, albeit unsuccessfully.

So naturally this left her with Foreman which added to the inconceivability that accompanied the desire, and the act it was all about the loss of control. These games she played would always end up with control as one of the arteries that demanded its survival.

Suddenly before she was ready to know it Cuddy glanced inside and caught a glimpse of the clock, time she left. Without knowing it she watches her own reflection in the glass of the window as a breeze brushes the tips of her hair across her collar bones. Is this vanity? Sometimes she asks too many questions that don't matter; often she forgets to ask the important ones.

There is another errant thought traipsing around in her mind as she gathers her hand bag and efficiently replaces its contents. She is thinking of what might happen if she doesn't return, what exactly would be the consequences of her going home, getting into bed and sleeping. Would they notice that she was gone? How long before they called her?

Of course the whole point of the game is that it's all just speculation, the possibility that it might happen, hiding under the certainty that it won't. She couldn't let herself forsake her prodigy, her claim to fame. Such an action would destroy everything she had ever dreamt of and worked for, it would possibly undermine her entire life.

Every stride that she takes is taking her a step closer to the source of all the troubles in her life so impulsively she rebels in a pathetic attempt to invoke jealousy from an entity completely incapable of comprehending or even appreciating her actions.

She is calling her date but all she gets is the answering machine, so she leaves a message and although it is laden with euphemism it's obviously a glorified booty call, she sets the date for tomorrow, she knows he'll comply. Poor boy he doesn't know what he is getting himself into, she tries to feel sorry for him but that just ends up rounding back on her, morphing in to self pity and she knows from experience that it isn't attractive on her.

Cell phone deposited back in to her bag, she doesn't want to hear the echo of the empty dial tone so she snaps it shut quicker than strictly necessary. The glass doors slide open and she walks back into her home.

This is the end of all unrelated thoughts until she finds herself driving home.

Here is the place where a thousand situations assault her; each could cause her varying degrees of discomfort. Scenarios that end with flashing lights and broken glass scattered across the road, screeching brakes and seconds that linger so much longer than their original given value. Cuddy would say she is just being overly wary but the possibility that she isn't prevents her from validating such a gesture.

She moves one of her slightly trembling hands from the wheel and switches on the radio; it's a classical station playing something baroque, brain music. So the ride home is in only one kind of silence, the physical sense of the word has been shattered but the silence of her brain is overweighing both.

Cuddy wakes that night and through the veil of still misty dreams she goes to fetch a glass of water. Though her limbs are still waking she manages to traverse the hallway without major incident. The light switch, however, proves to be her undoing.

Through hazy sequins with her pupils contracting from their sudden exposure she finds herself reeling back into the bench. Her coordination is till slightly off and the numb feeling that had surrounded her has been penetrated by a blunt ache across the small of her back.

With a hand gingerly rubbing at her back she straightens both her mind and limbs; she runs the situation through her mind, always coming to the same conclusion. She is fine. The injury is a small retribution from life, a petty reminder.

So she drinks her water and even though the hour is late she retires to a chair next to her book shelf and attempts to read. It's not as easy as she would have imagined, Cuddy could see herself sinking into a book but the state mind isn't there, she can't concentrate on the words. It feels like the author has nothing left to say to her.

Going back to bed doesn't agree with her either. She lies with sheets that are too warm cocooning her, her pillows arch her neck uncomfortably and she un-necessarily reminds herself that it's much easier to sleep after sex.

Cuddy can feel weariness creeping closer but every time she notes it's movements it seems to shy away. It doesn't want to be tracked through the corners of her mind.

She tries to let her mind wander somewhere else but it won't it just stays exactly where it is and it leaves her suspended between two worlds.

She wants to let got but she knows she can't, it's the same way with the Lawyer, if only he could satisfy her search. What is she looking for? The question is one she asks herself but she doesn't know how to answer or even if she wants to.

Greg isn't the remedy, she is fairly sure of it but they will keep on using one another taking what they can. Cuddy isn't sure why it happens but she knows it will continue, until it stops and that's fine as long as she doesn't have to explain.


End file.
